Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

"Daddy?"

"The Belt president will be blamed," said the Old One. "Not immediately, of course, not directly. Aztlan has many enemies, but I'll make sure their suspicions eventually turn to the Belt."

"You looking to stir up border troubles or start a trade war?"

"It's a bit more subtle than that," said the Old One.

"Subtle? See, that's the problem, Daddy." Baby kicked off her shoes, vaulted onto the wide, flat marble railing, teetered slightly as a gust caught her skirt, the fabric boiling up around her. Forty stories above the earth she stretched out her arms, wiggled her pink perfect toes. " Subtle 's just another word for safe. " She looked down at him, blond hair whipping across her face. "Daddy…it feels like everybody here's moving in slow motion, afraid to make a move. Well, I can't live like that. You may have all the time in the world, but I don't."

"Yes…" The Old One looked up into her eyes and the stars seemed to go out. "Having all the time in the world does change things, doesn't it?"

She hopped off the railing, stood before him, so close he almost took a step backward.

Baby breathed harder, a flush rising in her cheeks. "So what's really going on?"

The Old One watched her. There was a tautness to her, an eagerness, as though she were straining at an invisible leash. It made her incredibly attractive. He wished he could remember her mother, but he had only a vague recollection of a beautiful, pale-skinned girl with hair that smelled like pine soap. They hadn't had much time together, a few weeks…never enough time. A thousand years wouldn't have been enough and now he had so much less than that.

"Please, Daddy?"

"The murder of the oil minister is just the first step," said the Old One. "I intend to start a full-scale war with Aztlan, bullets and bombers and the rockets' red glare."

"Now you're talking." Baby clapped her hands in glee. "If you want a war, though, you better forget slow and steady. You need to jump-start a regular shitstorm…pardon my French."

"Yes, you may be right…" said the Old One. "It might be best to move forward my timetable…even at the cost of increasing the risk." Baby slipped her arm through his and the Old One suddenly could see her mother's excited face, the two of them locked in passion. "So…how would you suggest we start this shitstorm, as you so colorfully described it?"

"Well, FYI, blaming the Belt president for the murder of the oil minister is the wrong play," said Baby. "President Raynaud's popularity is thin as tissue paper. Aztlan demands his head on a stick, the senate's likely to give it to them. You want to set the Belt boiling, sic Aztlan on the Colonel. Folks in the Belt love him. Raynaud's just a vote whore. My husband's a certified hero with a chestful of medals. If Aztlan blames him for what Lester did, you're going to get your war sooner than later."

The Old One locked eyes with her. If it were possible for him to be afraid of a woman, she would be the one. Blood of his blood. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Baby bit her lower lip. "I know what y'all are thinking. You're wondering if you underestimated me. Don't feel bad, men do it to me all the time."

"Yes…I imagine they do." The breeze kicked up off the ocean, moist and briny. He hadn't lived in the desert for well over a hundred years, but sometimes he still missed it. "Will the Colonel accept help from the Republic?"

"The Republic helping out the Belt?" said Baby.

"Would he?"

Baby pretended to be thinking about the question, but he knew she was really thinking about the rationale behind the question. "Well…there's plenty of bad feelings to go around, but he's a Christian. To forgive's divine."

"Good."

Baby moved closer. "So you're stirring up a war between Aztlan and the Belt, so the Republic can come riding to the rescue. You're going to a lot of trouble to get the Belt and the Republic to kiss and make up."

"I'm a peacemaker at heart."

Baby giggled. "Me too." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "You planning on putting the two pieces together again?"

The Old One shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. Ibrahim would have never understood; his faith would have blinded him to the possibility.

"Reunification's the only reason I can think of for you to do what you're doing." Baby didn't look at him. "Strange thing, though. You busted up the United States so you could put it back together again?"

"To reunite it under the banner of Allah, stronger than ever. A beacon to the faithful around the world, a call to initiate the caliphate."

"That's going to be a hard sell, Daddy. Ask Humpty Dumpty how that worked out."

"Desperation reminds even half brothers that they are brothers nonetheless."

"Yeah, nothing like a wolf scratching at the door to stop folks from squabbling." Baby glanced at him. "You got a big problem, though. From what I hear, even the Belt and the Republic together aren't strong enough to defeat Aztlan, not as long as the Mexican air armada can pound every one of our cities flat."

"Yes, that is a problem."

"I guess you're working on it, huh?"

The Old One didn't respond.

Baby swayed against him. "One thing I always wondered about. Why start your caliphate in the USA instead of some Muslim country? I mean…why not make it easy on yourself?"

"I did try to make it easy on myself." The Old One watched the stars on the water. "I placed the Shah of Iran back on the Peacock Throne, but that upstart Khomeini ruined things. Then the Saudi prince I had maneuvered to succeed King Fahd fell from favor. My contacts in the U.S. State Department convinced Benazir Bhutto to return to Pakistan, but the silly bitch got herself killed before I intended." He shook his head. "After fifty years of failure in the Muslim world, I decided the solution lay elsewhere."

"The Great Satan," said Baby, fingers on her head making devil horns.

The Old One laughed and for an instant he forgot all about Massakar's sad face and even sadder diagnosis.

"I like hearing you laugh, Daddy."

"What could have greater impact on the Muslim world than the collapse of their ancient enemy?" said the Old One as Baby's hair wafted across his face like angel wings. "I had already laid the groundwork-politicians and journalists, newsanchors and academics, they were all for sale, and the religious leaders sold themselves cheapest. Their whole culture was rotten, riddled with greed and filth. I merely helped things along." The tide splashed in, the waves stacking up in the moonlight. "However…it turned out that bringing down the Great Satan was easier than putting it back together again. I came close five years ago, but our friend Rakkim and his meddling wife made me postpone my plans." Clouds edged across the moon. "That's why Ibrahim is so cautious. Inevitability is a tenuous asset, not to be squandered. I can't afford another high-profile setback."

Baby kissed his cheek. "Well, you didn't have me beside you back then. Now, you do."

"Yes," said the Old One, the feel of her lips lingering. "Now, I do."

Rakkim was hurrying home when he spotted Sarah and Michael getting on the monorail at Fremont, both of them dressed as modern Muslims, which made no sense. He had to run to catch up, just managed to slide through the door of the Catholics-only car behind them. He didn't even have time to sit down before the monorail left, the elevated train shooting rapidly across the capital. The Catholics-only car was half full at midmorning, service workers and young mothers, mostly, a few old people staring out the windows as they gnawed on fibrous vitamin bars.

He settled back in the hard plastic bench, kept one hand half over his face, as though deep in thought, watching Sarah and Michael through the smoked glass between the cars. The Muslim cars were more luxurious, the seats padded, the air lightly perfumed with the scent of vanilla, verses from the Quran inscribed on the walls in gold script. Only fundamentalist cars were legally forbidden to nonbelievers, with a Black Robe posted on the platform to make sure no infidels tried to enter. Even so, Catholics chose to be among their own kind. Sarah stared straight ahead, head high, but Michael gawked from side to side, even peered at Rakkim for a moment before being distracted by the fat man sitting opposite him tapping away on his handheld.